


The Queen's Lover

by orphan_account



Category: No Particular Fandom, The Other Boleyn Girl - Philippa Gregory, The Tudors (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergent, Divergent from Real Life, Events in this fic are made up, F/M, No historical accuracy, entirely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-17 15:37:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16519244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "Surely you can guess what I'm trying to ask of you." The queen leans closer. Her hand has quite conveniently found its way on his thigh.Would highly recommendA Land for Ladies by AnnaTaurewhich inspired me to write whatever the hell this is -





	The Queen's Lover

Thomas Cromwell is writing in reply to the Portuguese ambassador on behalf of the king when the door to his office swings open.

The queen enters the room and he hastily pushes his chair back to bow down. "Your majesty."

"Thomas." She says.

He schools back a frown. She may be queen and he only a secretary to the king, but even she should not address him so informally.

Ever since she has taken the crown, Cromwell has tried to stay well away from her. She is a scheming woman who brought down the former queen Katherine single handedly and he'd do well to stay far from her he's told himself.

"My lady, may I assist you in anything?" What use could she possibly want with him, he wonders.

"I must speak with you on a delicate matter. Could we go somewhere private?" She says quietly, her words a poor imitation of a request for her tone is one not be argued with. His senses are standing on end now, wary and alert.

He nods moving to lock the door to the office from which she came before moving at the far side of the room towards his bookcase. He slides it aside to reveal the the hidden door behind.

The woman watching him shows no sign of surprise, merely follows him through it.

It's sparsely furnished. Only a thin bed, a lamp on the side table and chair. No windows, no other door.

"Please, my lady," he gestures to the chair and the queen moves to sit on the bed instead. She is not so big as he knows she will become eventually but the sign of the child within her is obvious. Even if it weren't for the king bragging at least ten and one times a day about his prince of England coming very soon.

"Anne, please. I'd be much more comfortable if we weren't so formal with each other."

"What would you have of me," He still hesitates. "Anne?"

He is surprised to see a blush cover those cheeks and her eyes dropping briefly before looking somewhere to the side of his face.

"You understand what I'm about to ask of you - request you - must not, under any circumstances leave this room?" She looks at him meeting his gaze with pleading eyes.

And damn this woman, he thinks, for he cannot possibly refuse her now. Not with those eyes trained on him.

Cromwell vaguely wonders how the king could possibly even look at another woman. While his wife, even through the strains of second pregnancy, manages to stay utterly radiant. Yes, there are evident signs of tiredness on her face, but her hair still flows with bounce down her back. Her steps may be heavier, her voice weighed down, yet she is no less captivating, her presence no less commanding...

She's staring at him now, a confused line above her brows which is slowly, yet surely turning into an expression of relief - and, something else...

"Do I have your word, Thomas?" She asks him, this time with nothing but determination. She'll get what she wants, and she knows it.

He bows in surrender to her wishes. She smiles up at him graciously as if she's bestowing upon him a great treasure.

"Very well, then." The queen's expression turns grave once more. "I must speak with clarity and bluntness I hope you will forgive, Thomas."

He waits, having given up trying to predict her words.

"The king seems to have... become bored of me. He no longer visits my bedchamber."

Cromwell is stunned to say the least. Of all things, this - he hasn't even imagined the queen would be discussing this with him.

"Your majesty - "

"My name, Thomas. I have one."

"Anne." He begins gently, trying to come up with an answer as well as how to put it into words. "Surely you must understand the king is simply taking precautions with the child. I'm sure...ah, things will be normal after the birth, your - Anne."

The queen gives a bitter laugh. "Normal? You and I - and I suspect most of the court - know very well, that I'll lose both the crown along with my head if I do not give the king a boy." She passes a hand over her belly as if she can pray her wish onto the child.

"That's - you... Anne." He stops. This woman cannot be placated with empty excuses or distracted with ease. He can see she's clever, well she must be, with how easily she worked her way on the English throne.

He knows she's as well versed in politics as she's gifted in needlework, as sharp in judging a man as she's proficient as playing the harp. He strongly suspects she continues to have her network of spies in the French court, not to mention the one she's building up here in England.

"It's alright, my lord. I know very well the king's fickle affections have changed tide yet again. Just this time it's away from me rather than towards me."

He stays silent.

"Why, it's the very thing that got me here in the first place. Some would say it's poetic justice that one of my own ladies has caught his eye now. I'm sure Katherine on her sick bed is dying of laughter."

"Anne." He says with no less horror. "Please do not speak thusly."

Brown eyes regard his own with silent amusement. "Come, sit next to me."

As he moves closer her fingers close over his elbow drawing him closer to her and he seats himself on the bed with nary an inch between them.

Treason of the highest order, he thinks gloomily, this woman will have his head on the block faster than he can say 'mercy' of which of course the king will have none. For he is strongly beginning to suspect why the queen is here.

"Surely you can guess what I'm trying to ask of you." The queen leans closer. Her hand has quite conveniently found its way on his thigh. He swallows.

"Why me?"

"Why not you?" Her fingers tighten on his thigh.

"Anne." He persists. He not foolish enough to think that the woman who aimed as high as England's crown would stoop low to a minister's level.

"Desperate times." A shrug. "And the king keeps watch over all the men that visit me. He may not want me if I weren't means to an heir, but he is still considers me his and only his."

"And," she continues, damning him for eternity, "I have seen you watching me." She says simply.  
~

"I need more than your fingers, Thomas." He watches her writhe in desperation. Try as he might to do this clinically, safely, from a distance - he futilely reminds himself. "Thomas, please, I need - need your - "

Spread out on the thin bed. His bed. Dark hair loose, fanned out against the pillows and her dress skirts hiked up over her slightly swollen stomach. He can't help but drink in the sight. Her moans are mesmerising. And his knuckles buried between her legs are driving him insane because he keeps imagining replacing them with his -

" - cock... I want..."

"Anne, think of the child." He manages to speak. "I can't."

"You can." Her expression is lazy yet voice set firm. "Believe me. It's my head on the line if I don't birth a healthy boy, so no one's more invested in its wellbeing."

Gods above. She spreads her knees in blatant invitation and he could almost sob as he gives in. Fumbling with his robes to set them aside, he gets his member free and bends a knee between hers. He pushes into her as gently as he is able, praying for his unsalvagable soul, he praying that he pleases her. Most importantly he prays for the health of the future prince.

"Anne." He whispers her name over and over. It's been too long since he's known this kind of pleasure. He hasn't touched another since his wife died nearly a decade ago.

Her legs around his hips tremble, tightening their grip when he deepens his thrusts making the bed creak ominously in the silent room.

"Anne, I'm - forgive me, I - " He tries to breathe through the haze of euphoria clouding his mind. "It's - ah, long, been so long. I can't."

Her fingers find his face and she crashes her lips to his. He kisses her desperately, violently, as he gives a final thrust before spilling himself inside her.  
~

"I had forgotten it could be like that." Anne speaks so wistfully that it breaks his heart. On the other hand, he is also puffing up with pride.

Foolish pride.

She is not his woman. She is not his anything. Not lover, neither his whore nor his mistress.

Rather she seems to have made him hers. Her what though, is the question.  
~

They are always careful, always on guard. Both wholly aware of the risks and exactly how easy it would be for it all to come crashing down on their heads.

Thankfully, the king seems occupied with, the Seymour girl all the time, Only paying attention to Anne to enquire about the babe every few days.

Cromwell does his duty, takes care of the affairs of the kingdom, makes peace with neighbours, handles the king's treasury, continues to work hard.

Anne grows more beautiful every day. Her belly grows and the court physicians continue to declare mother and child healthy as ever - he, himself swears she looks radiant: her hair grows thick, past her waist by now (he rejoices that shes taken to wearing it simple and loose nowadays), her cheeks and lips look redder - especially after he's kissed and bitten them quite thoroughly, and her moods change lightening fast.

One morning, her ladies driven away temporarily with her foul temper last evening, he managed to sneak in her room. He had held her in his arms as slept, his heart has jarred dangerously when her sleepy expression turned soft upon catching sight of him in her bed. The moment somewhat ruined when the queen rushed to wretch her guts, while he used the excuse to gather her hair between his fingers.

Then helped her bathe, slipping his hands over the queen's wet, glistening skin. He passes his hands over her growing belly, resisting the urge to kiss it.

He takes his time rubbing sweet oils onto her skin, his fingertips gliding over every inch of her he can reach. He rubs her swollen stomach making her sigh happily

"Thomas..." The water splashes as her body jerks.

Suffice it to say he'd learned pretty fast how to sweeten her mood...  
~

"Peace? I do not want peace with France!" The king rants at him.

Cromwell sighs. The country needs peace, he thinks. "Your Grace, our army and resources are depleted." He doesn't mention that that French king, Francois, is thrice the man Henry could ever hope to be. He is free of any ailments- while Henry's injured leg gets worse; he trains daily whereas Cromwell would wager his life that the king hasn't picked up a sword since the accident.

He had worked hard for this treaty, damn anyone who'd ruin it now.

"I'd see all of France crushed under my feet! I'll not sign for a peace treaty with the bastards!" The king rages, "Get out! Leave!"

Cromwell grits his teeth as he bows low.

At least this time, his humiliation is private. God help them all, but there's a tantrum throwing child on the throne, he can't help thinking as he angrily makes his way towards his office chambers.

And runs into the queen flanked by her ladies.

There's a second - just a single second of heedless insanity - where he imagines taking her by the shoulders and kissing her, venting all his anger, laughing at the king - who may insult him however he wish, but he's the one whose bed she prefers at the end of the day.

Instead, of course, he sweeps into a deep bow hiding his face until he has arranged a blank expression. "Your majesty."

"Master Cromwell. How do you fare this fine morning?"

He straightens back. "Simply tired, your majesty." His words sound clipped even to his own ears and the queen doesn't miss it.

"Then I bid you go take rest, my lord." She says pleasantly, and is gone.

He knows that she has read him like a book.  
~

Of course, the queen finds him later.

"It seems we both have grievances against the king," Anne sighs heavily as she lies down on the bed. Cromwell immediately sits by her feet and takes them into his lap to massage them. He remembers the experience of his own children with his late wife well enough. Yet another thing in which he takes the king's place.

"That feels really nice, Thomas, thankyou."

"It's nothing, my dear." The endearment slips out before he can reign it in and he is promptly horrified. This is not what this is. At least to her, he thinks bitterly. "I - I'm sorry, my queen, I meant..."

"Oh, hush, will you?" She smiles at him. "Should I call you my darling then?"

He can't help but start at that. "Er- "

"The king is with his whore again, making merry while you, who works hard to keep the country together, is slighted for your service to England. Quite unfair," she adjusts the pillows behind back.

Cromwell feels a fresh wave of anger towards the man. "At least, he did not do so infront of the council." Like the countless times before.

"Ah, what does it matter? Tomorrow he will call you his best friend again and all will be well for you. Even he knows your value." Anne closes her eyes. "Me on the other hand..."

He looks at the woman, in the low lighting of the candle, in her thin nightgown. Tired but relaxed, weary yet still holding on to her strength.

He slows his hands on her feet, his movements still maintaining soothing pressure but now adding a soft caress here or there every so often. His touches moving gradually higher up her leg -

Anne's breathing starts to quicken and when he looks at her face, she is watching him with heavy lidded eyes.

"My Anne, mine..." He whispers, for in this moment - she _is_ his. As much as he is hers. Damn him, he cannot be in love with her, he _cannot_.

_She belongs to the most powerful man in the country..._

"Yours," she echoes his desire, his longing, pulling him to her in a soft, soft kiss, a brush of lips.

"Let me have you, my queen. Please," he begs. He is already baring her legs, the thin material of her dress is the only barrier to her body.

"Yes, yes," she kisses him harder, her hands frantically reaching to divest him of his clothes. "I want to see you, all of this time - "

He complies.  
~

The council thankfully settled the king's recent bloodlust and the peace treaty is signed and framed on the wall much to all their relief.

Anne asks him to visit her more often and he delights in her request even though, now her amorous inclinations have long since faded with discomfort of the upcoming child. He doesn't care that all she asks of him now is to brush her hair, or massage her feet, or read her a book to sooth her to sleep.

It is utter foolishness, it is dangerous, he knows, what with the queen now in confinement and him having to employ even harder tricks to ensure their meetings go unnoticed.

It's worth it, he thinks. Especially when Anne clings to him every time he's about to leave in the small hours of dawn. Unspoken words which ring much louder in his ears.  
~

The whole court is in anticipation, waiting with baited breath. The queen has been into labour for the past day and a half.

Henry doesn't look happy at all, thinking only of the child, already having given up hope.

But Cromwell prays. Not his child, not his woman, and yet he prays on his knees in the privacy of his room. He wishes he was beside her right now, holding her hand, whispering encouragement in her ear.

When the king summons him, he dreads the news. Yet he must go, so he nods to the servant.

Henry is fairly bouncing in joy when Cromwell enters the king's dining halls. "I have a son! A son, dear fellow!"

Thomas hastily arranged his expression to one of complete joy and accepts the goblet of wine the king offers him. All his council members are cheering and offering congratulations.

And what of the queen? My Anne? He desperately wants to say, his heart seemingly trying to climb its way out.

Cromwell grins at the king. "Then my congratulations to your Grace, and my prayers for the health of our prince and queen."

Henry claps his back and moves to the table once more to pick up another drink.

Damn him, can he not say a single word to assure his raging mind?

He discretely slips out of the room and grabs hold of the first servant he can find. Only when he hears that both the queen and prince are well, does he breathe without a weight in his chest.  
~

The queen's rooms are scrubbed clean and lavished with embroidered cloths. She and the babe in her arms are bedecked in the finest of clothes when the king visits them.

Princesses Elizabeth is standing by the bed, beaming at her new brother.

He watches standing by the door as the king sweeps in the room and coos over his son. "We'll name him Edward."

The queen smiles at the king. "Excellent name for England's prince."

Henry bends down to place a kiss on the babe's head and a much longer one on the queen's lips.

Cromwell stands as still as a statue, his own smile frozen in place.  
~

He hesitates now, doubting whether the queen would require his... services any more. The king, delighted with the birth of his heir, is nothing but a doting husband. Jane Seymour is all but forgotten, and he knows the queen's family is rising in favor once more. More riches, lands, titles for the little prince's maternal grandfather and uncles.

He enters the queen's chambers with trepidation - entirely unsure of his reception. His fears prove fruitless for the moment she catches sight of him, her face breaks into an exuberant smile.

The queen rises up from beside the sleeping infant in his crib and rushes forward to embrace him. "Thomas, you took far too long." Her voice is muffled from her face being buried in the crook of his neck.

She sucks at his skin trailing her mouth upto his jaw. "I'm afraid I shall disappoint you, darling. I won't be ready to share your bed for some time."

Cromwell could faint at shock from being called 'darling', from the warm intimacy with which those eyes are watching him now. "No matter." He reassures her, "I came to see you. That you're well."

"I am. For now at least, the king seems happier with me. So is my father."

"He should. The king has been very generous since the birth of the prince."

Anne hums. "They all want something from me. I only exist to fulfill their whims, to give them whatever they please, then they threaten to ruin me if I do not."

She meets his eyes. "Only you, Thomas. You ask nothing, expect nothing, want nothing, from me."

"I wouldn't say that at all, your majesty." He teases her, bumping his nose against hers. "I have ulterior motives for risking my head coming to your chambers at night."

"Is that so, my lord?" Anne giggles. "Then I'm utterly at your mercy, it seems."

"Let's go to sleep." He pulls her to bed, tucking the covers around them and snuggling close to her.  
~

Months pass, seasons change and it's almost Christmas. The prince grows in health every day as well as proceeding to wrap them all around his little finger quite effortlessly.

It's one of these evenings when he's visiting Anne again that she's turns to him suddenly.

"Thomas, I need your help. It's only a matter of time before Henry will expect to share my bed again. Already he speaks of a 'spare heir'." She closed her eyes, sighing. "I've managed to put him off with excuses of still recovering from childbed but - it can't hold him off for long."

Cromwell starts. "But... you and I have... for more than a few weeks..." He'd never asked, god, he hadn't even wanted to consider Anne with the king. But she is queen and must do what she has to do, and he's made his peace with it. But now -

"Yes," she shrugs. "Well. I have no desire for him any longer. I see no reason to continue to... suffer, and besides, I grow tired of all the work I must do to bring him pleasure and all at the cost of my own."

"Anne - for heaven's sake." He says exasperated.

"What can I say? You have spoiled me, darling." She aims a smirk at him.

"I'm simply doing my duty to please my queen." He murmurs, trailing the back of his fingers down her cheek to her throat... lower. He eyes the light swell of her breasts visible above her dress and feels his body heating, readying. He reaches for the ties holding her dress in place as he moves to whisper in her ear. "I'd like to please you more, my queen. Shall we go to bed?"

Later, he remembers her request. His mind already working at the problem at hand.  
~

She looks ethereal in her rich, royal blue gown twirling around in the arms of the king and Cromwell can barely keep his eyes off her. He struggles to look away before someone becomes aware of his reckless gaze. And her throat where below her pearls, lies a sapphire stone the size of her son's fist - a gift he had placed around her neck, making sure to brush his fingers against the soft skin there.

He had returned just that afternoon from a neighbouring county, after being away from the palace for almost a fortnight. And quite anxious to see the queen as soon as he could.

She'd shivered in his arms. "Thomas," she'd whispered, neck still bent to side. Her hair bunched over her shoulder. Her eyes closed as if in bliss.

He'd run his fingers down her cheek, neck, throat then followed the path with his lips. Wanting to kiss a bruise on that pale, delicate flesh -

Anne pushed had pushed him away. Walking towards his table, shoving his papers aside with utter carelessness, she'd climbed on beckoning him with crooked finger.

"Anne, on the table?" he'd said astounded.

In answer, she had merely smiled at him, pulling her skirts up her legs, baring her thighs.

Cromwell had felt as if bewitched, surrendering to her, too distracted to lament the mess of his important papers half strewn on the floor by his feet. Too busy spreading her knees, burying his face against her shoulder.

"Six days, I have waited for this, for you." Her fingers had found their way under his clothes.

She had gasped as he'd guided his leaking shaft inside her, one hand gripping her leg in position. Her body had jerked underneath his own as her moans grew harsher -

And now he watches the king's arms around her waist, his lips against her throat.

He dreams of her that night, alone in his bed. Imagining it is him holding Anne infront of all of court, dancing with her, kissing her.  
~

"You used to hate me so much," Anne giggles. "Remember?"

"No less than how much you used to despised my very sight." He replies running his fingers through the queen's dark, silky hair who simply shifts closer to him under the covers.

"We were different people then." Anne sighs, "I was arrogant and you were loyal to Katherine."

"I was fond of the woman I knew as my queen, then."

"And now?" She glances up at him smiling.

He tugs her closer. "And now - the new queen has me enamoured."

Anne laughs.

"She has my heart." He adds quietly. It's followed by a moment of silent.

"Thomas, god help me." There's no trace of levity in her voice now. She presses her face against his jaw. "I never should've gone down this road. Never. If I could go back in time..."

He stills, not comprehending her meaning.

"... I was so foolish. Blinded by dreams of wearing the crown. I have sold my own happiness, ruined it all."

"Anne, no."

"I wish we were married." Cromwell looks up at her words. "I wish we could be together without having to hide ourselves in darkness."

"Me too, my love."

They're both silent as the night wears on.  
~

"A sleeping draught," he hands her a vial of pale liquid. "Next time, Henry comes to you, give him some to drink. It does no harm, but it will make him sleep for hours."

Anne takes it from him, nodding. "I asked him to allow the Princess Mary to come to court." She says after a while.

She had voiced her thoughts resignedly, certain to be ignored, and been very surprised when Henry had actually considered her and agreed.

He lifts his brows in surprise. "Oh?"

"Yes." She raises the wine to her lips. "I - I think, that maybe it will atone, even if a little, for what I put her mother through."

"Anne," he puts his goblet down, moving to cover her hand on the table. "You didn't do anything worth seeking atonement for."

"Didn't I? God I - "

"Anne, no. Henry was tired of Katherine long before you came along. He would have cast her aside no matter what."

"Yes, but - " Her eyes are downcast, voice sad. "I remember all those times I taunted her, insulted her - "

Cromwell rubs her knuckles soothingly, "Perils of being married to king of England. You have not had easy either."

The queen sighs. "No. I haven't."

He kisses her cheek.  
~

Mary comes to court in a few weeks. Henry reinstates her title and her rights to throne. "Princess Mary, my daughter, I hope you can forget all that is past and accept my invitation to live here at court where you belong."

She bows her head. "You are most generous, my liege."

"Father." He corrects smiling.

Cromwell notes the genuine shock in the girl's wide eyes. "Father." She looks more like the former Queen Katherine than ever, spanish pride and beauty all over her features.

How many strong women has this one man brought low? Cromwell thinks once again.

Henry introduces her to Edward and Elizabeth. "Your brother, Prince Edward and sister princess Elizabeth."

Cromwell watches the people regarding the return of the forgotten princess.

The king seems in good mood and quite happy with Anne. "It was a good idea, Anne. I'm pleased."  
~

His hands are gripping Anne's hips hard. She's bent over his table still in her dress, crumpled and ruined.

She pulls her hair to one side and tilts her head forward, exposing the back of her lovely neck. Immediately making him want to sink his teeth there with no reason to hold back.

"Anne..." He gasps as her flesh tightens around his throbbing shaft. He reaches around to tug her gown lower, baring her breasts.

Cromwell leans down on her so her nipples will rub against the rough material of his cloak laid on the table with each of his thrusts.

"You devil - ah!" She cries, her fingers scrambling for purchase. "Husband." She groans.

"My sweet, sweet wife." He loves hearing her pant his name like that, in a voice wrecked by him. Loves knowing that after all the years, he can make Anne scream with pleasure.

Their Edward has been reigning king for nearly fifteen years now. Princess Mary who had chosen to remain unmarried had passed away taken with an illness a few years ago. She had considered Anne a friend in her last days.

And their Elizabeth, beloved sister and prime advisor to the king, was expecting her second child.

It had been quite the scandal when the Dowager Duchess had married the king's old secretary. And barely out of mourning from her husband's - the king's death. 

Oh well, the Boleyns had never been dull.

~


End file.
